


A bit of pain, a bit of pleasure

by DaimeryanRei



Series: Summer Smut Challenge [1]
Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 01:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11498550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaimeryanRei/pseuds/DaimeryanRei
Summary: Thor searches out Loki after a warg attack, fearing that the bite wounds might infect him. Running an art gallery as his latest master plan, Loki’s more than surprised by his sudden visit, but it’s a very welcome surprise…





	A bit of pain, a bit of pleasure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dillian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dillian/gifts).



Title: A bit of pain, a bit of pleasure  
Fandom: Thor (Marvel Universe)  
Pairings: Thor x Loki  
Genre: PWP  
Warnings: full man-on-man action   
Summary: Thor searches out Loki after a warg attack, fearing that the bite wounds might infect him. Running an art gallery as his latest master plan, Loki’s more than surprised by his sudden visit, but it’s a very welcome surprise…  
Author’s note: Written for the Summer Smut Exchange Challenge, as suggested by my lovely writing partner in crime. Choice of pairing: Thor x Loki. Prompt: One tiny spot of blood but that’s okay… why? Settings/moods: In the city.

Key: ----------------- = scene change

\-------------------------------

“You _stink_ , Thor.” Loki presses an embroidered handkerchief to his nose and haughtily looks over the edge of the delicate fabric at the Asgardian warrior, sweaty, grimy and dirty, standing in the middle of his luxuriously decorated office. “What or who did you run into this time?”

“Just a couple of wargs, nothing serious.” Thor shrugs haphazardly. He drops Mjölnir on the floor and it resonates through the building with a loud thud. It’s after business hours and many offices are closed; Loki’s office is above the art gallery he runs, so the chances of someone being bothered by the sound, are slim.

“A couple of wargs. And after killing them, you chose to come running to me? I gave you that teleportation rune stone only to be used in dire need, not on a whim.”

“It might have a special kind of warg,” Thor says, a little too casually. He shuffles with his feet, though.

“You moron.” He doesn’t ask any more questions. Loki stands up from his seat, shaking his head while he closes the distance between himself and his ‘brother’. He doesn’t think of Thor as his brother, certainly not after everything that has happened, but he’s willing to acknowledge that there’s some kind of relationship between them. Not friends, not enemies, not brothers, not… well, how to describe the nature of their relationship? ‘Neutral acquaintances’? He drops the handkerchief on his way. “What are you here for anyway?”

“One of those foul beasts took a bite out of me,” Thor points at a row of holes in his armor, just above his right hip. “You are the only one who has extensive knowledge of otherworldly and mythical creatures.”

“You want me to check up on you!” Loki throws his arms up. “Would it really have hurt you to read a book in your younger years, so you would have known what to do?”

Thor grins. “You do the reading, I do the fighting.”

“Yes, sure.” Loki snorts and pokes at the holes. Thor hisses but refuses to flinch. “You are bleeding. Take off that armor, so I can take a closer look.” As he doesn’t want his Prada suit to be ruined, Loki hangs his jacket on the back of a Louis XIV chair and rolls up his sleeves. Thor has a little bit of difficulty removing the armor and plucks at it. The material refuses to budge. While he fumbles around with it, he asks: “So, an office in the city, huh? I never thought you would return to New York.”

Loki finishes rolling up his sleeves. “I like it here,” he says. “I wanted to go to Paris first. Moscow was too cold, Amsterdam too boring. New York is a mix of everything, eclectic and energetic. And a lot of people like art.”

Finally, the clasps of the armor come undone. With a sigh, Thor drops the fortified garment on the floor.

“Not on the carpet!” Loki cries. “That is a seventeenth century Persian rug!”

“Sorry,” Thor mutters and pushes the punctured armor with his foot to the right, onto the hardwood floor. Loki grumbles something in return and goes through a door in the office, leading the bathroom. Thor takes the opportunity to look around. What is Loki up to, with his ‘art gallery’? What kind of schema is this? It pains him to think of Loki’s activities as ‘schemes’, not ‘hobbies’ or ‘occupation’. Loki’s nature has shifted through time; once a curious boy with a penchant for magic and adventures, now a highly intellectual adult with a knack for manipulation and mayhem. It’s perhaps a sour thought, but Loki only has to thank himself for this… suspicion. 

The office is decorated with historical, antique pieces. Paintings on the wall - Thor doesn’t recognize them but he’s convinced they’re exclusive and highly sought after - and small statuettes on pristine polished side tables. He frowns. According to the latest information, Dr. Doom, a known ally of Loki’s, is in Latveria on a political mission. It’s been quiet as of late in New York, as if all super-villains have taken a holiday. The calm before the storm..?.

“…cost you,” he hears Loki’s voice, suddenly a lot closer than anticipated.

“Sorry, what?”

“Did you not even listen?” Loki sports an aggravated and somehow also amused expression. “I told you that if you want me to take care of this, it is going to cost you.”

“I will agree upon any price.” It’s out of Thor’s mouth before he realizes it. Why is Loki his weak spot? He has always been, for whatever reason. Thor hopes that he doesn’t ask for his teleportation rune stone back. It was such a tremendous gift, spontaneous too, and a mighty asset. It wasn’t Thor’s purpose to fight with the wargs, he’d been on a secret scouting mission as a favor for the All-Father, but he had been ambushed. He must bring this news to Asgard, but one of the creatures has bitten him and he doesn’t trust Midgardian doctors… and the healers on Asgard would probably ask too many questions.

Loki carries a small, golden box which he puts on one of the mahogany side tables. He opens it and retrieves a small bottle. Disinfectant, perhaps? As opposed he used to be of healing magic, Thor has learned to recognize its value. Meeting a certain Doctor Strange added to this learning experience; now he appreciates Loki’s magical capabilities much higher than ever before. He doesn’t tell Loki about his newfound insight; maybe one day he will, but not now. He twists a little to catch a glimpse of the puncture wounds. They sting and give off a dull ache, pulsing in his flesh. From this angle, he can see blood; just a little bit. Loki inspects the wounds and presses his fingers against Thor’s skin.

He hisses again, as Loki’s touch is cold. “One tiny spot of blood, but that is okay.”

“Why?” Thor asks, dumbfounded. 

“It means that the wargs were clean,” Loki explains, a little pedantic. “If you were bleeding all over the place, you might have been infected with whatever disease, or even poisoned. Common wargs, right?”

“They were much stronger than I have ever come across!” Thor protests.

“Hm.” Loki’s fingers touch the puncture wounds all over, poking and prodding and Thor bites back an indignant cry as it really _hurts_. He rather takes a blow to the stomach or a broken limb over the bite of a creature; you never know whether it’s poisoned, or cursed, or diseased… “It might be worth looking into the owner of these wargs. Such beasts are not created by nature…”

Thor has given it a similar thought, but for now it’s reassuring that everything’s fine; the puncture wounds will heal and he’s at no risk of being infected. However, Loki still holds the bottle in his other hand and flicks it open. A strong smell disperses through the office; it’s not a foul smell, yet the combination of undoubtedly magical ingredients is a strange one and it tickles Thor’s nose; he can barely refrain from sneezing. Loki makes a face of disgust, not because of the smell of the concoction, but because of Thor himself. He hasn’t had the chance to clean up after his confrontation with the wargs and he longs for a shower; a wonderful Midgardian invention.

“Why did you not ask your Avengers friends?” Loki drips some of the concoction on his fingers and spreads it over the puncture wounds. Once again, it’s cold and it stings.

“This mission had nothing to do with them,” Thor answers. “I do not want to bother them with the consequences of my own trouble.”

“How noble. Well, this should be enough.” 

“Thank you.”

Loki puts the cap back on the bottle and is about to say something, when he frowns. “Wait, wait. That is not all, I see.”

“It is not?”

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Thor’s pants. It’s sturdy, fortified material that fits him like a glove, almost like a second skin. The moment his fingers slip between skin and fabric, Thor holds his breath. Loki looks up at him. Their height difference isn’t that significant, still, he has to crane his neck. Thor moves up his hand, stroking the exposed skin: so tender, so delicate... and then he grabs him, as if he wants to choke him, at the same moment Loki slides both his hands in his pants.

“What are you doing?” His voice is a gravelly whisper. 

“I need to check up on you,” Loki calmly answers, not in the least perturbed by Thor’s firm grip on his throat, rendering his voice to a gasping, ragged sound, barely articulating the words. “The wargs perforated your skin.”

“On my hip, yes.” Thor doesn’t push him away. His hand… he’s physically much stronger and he could crush Loki’s windpipe like he would squat a bug, but… he reduces the force of his grip a little, yet Loki doesn’t seem uncomfortable for one moment. Their eyes meet - Loki’s green eyes, saturated with magic - and Thor realizes that brute strength wouldn’t gain him victory, not with Loki as his opponent. “Not down there.”

A sly smile. “I have to be sure… who knows what mark those creatures could leave behind.”

“Is this the prize you are demanding?”

“Perhaps.” He licks his lips, doesn’t even ask for Thor to remove his hand. More so, he moves his own hands further down, fluttering inside his pants, touching sensitive flesh. Thor groans.

“Stop it.”

“Do you really want me to stop?”

“Of course I want you to. You…” Another groan, as Loki’s long fingers expertly stroke and caress him.

“Please, as if you are serious…” Loki stares at him, completely calm, his green eyes filled with mischief, but also a little anxiety and some… trepidation perhaps? “We have done this before.”

Thor releases his grip a little more, his eyes softening. “When we were younger. We were hiding on Jotunheimr, hunting for boars, and we needed to share bodily warmth, lest we froze to death.”

“Yes… mmm… share… you have not forgotten about it, have you?”

“How could I? What happened…”

“… was the best moment of your life,” Loki supplies.

“Loki…”

The waistband of his pants is pushed lower, giving Loki more room with his hands. Thor grunts, but can’t deny how good it feels. He relieves his grip completely and instead trails his fingers along his neck, caressing the flawless skin. “Why are you doing this?” He can’t help but ask, his breathing slightly raspy. “So much has happened. I cannot trust you.”

“Can I trust _you_?” Loki asks. He purses his lips. “Can I trust you to handle me, to not misguide me?”

“I have never misguided you,” Thor answers heatedly. “You were the one who made me believe you had died!”

Loki leans into his touch. His smile is the most innocent one he can muster. “But I am alive, Thor. Alive and well, you oaf.”

“If this is one of your schemes…” The kiss shuts him up, even if Loki all but bites at his lips and he fights against it, the immediate resurgence of those blasted sensations, so good and so intense, and yet… he can’t help but think about Loki’s ulterior motives. He’s been too often betrayed, hurt and deceived by him… and not enough kissed, loved, or held. But this… this… Loki slips away, crouching in front of him and taking the sturdy fabric with him, exposing his cock, half-hard and glistening.

“You dirty, dirty oaf,” Loki says, his fingers trailing down his length. “You sweaty pig.”

Thor reaches for him, his hand raking through the impeccable locks of long, raven black hair. He sees the glint in Loki’s eyes, knowing how much power he has over him even though Thor can overpower him easily when it comes to raw strength - but he chooses not to, not at this moment. It’s the intimacy he’s been waiting for, longing for. He doesn’t know how else to make contact with Loki; too much has happened, too many things that make their relationship difficult. Why shouldn’t he enjoy this? 

Loki’s fingers are slightly cold to the touch, yet tantalizing. He performs the right amount of pressure, infallibly finding the most sensitive spots. He doesn’t look up at Thor, he simply concentrates on stroking and caressing him. When he dips lower with his head and flicks out his tongue, Thor unabashedly moans, loud and deep. His hand slides out of Loki’s hair and touches his neck, gliding between skin and fabric. Thor knows about Loki’s aesthetics, especially when it involves clothing; he doesn’t know this Dolce & Gabbana, but he recognizes the quality of the fabric; it’s exquisite and it fits Loki like a second skin - and now it has some sweat stains on it, from the palm of his hands, as Thor thugs at the garment.

“Buttons, Thor, buttons,” Loki mumbles, his tongue firmly wrapped around Thor’s cock. He sounds unintelligible, so he moves his arms a little. Thor hoists up the offensive piece of clothing and Loki has to stop for a moment so the shirt can be pulled over his head. He doesn’t comment when Thor flings it away and it lands on top of a Louis XV cabinet, where the sleeve catches onto a terribly tacky, golden candelabra. Loki resumes his ministrations, one hand on Thor’s thigh, his other hand traveling down and working on the clasps of his boots. Growing a little impatient, Thor pulls up his leg to take off the boot himself, and Loki goes along, not losing his grip on him. The roughness of his tongue on Thor’s sensitive flesh makes the warrior grunt and groan, also in annoyance to get both boots off. He finally manages and steps out of his pants pooling around his ankles, naked in all his glory.

“Get on the carpet,” he growls, dragging Loki with him. His earlier comment about the exclusivity of the object completely forgotten, Loki obeys and lies himself down on the carpet. Thor kneels next to him and grabs the front of his pants, uncaring for the pricy suit. The clasp of the undoubtedly expensive belt breaks under his rough fingers, his movements clumsily and crude compared to Loki’s, who’s not paying attention to the damage, safe for a “Oh, you lummox”, but it comes out so hoarsely that Thor can barely understand the words. Away go the pants and the fancy dress shoes, everything is discarded in a hurry and Thor strips Loki naked. He folds his fingers around Loki’s cock, slender and tall just like himself, and the reaction he receives is a very pleasant one. Loki arches his back, writhing, his breathing already erratic. 

“Stop teasing me,” Loki reaches for him, anywhere he can touch him. Thor doesn’t regard himself as a tease, but he knows what he wants and strangely enough, he knows what Loki wants too. Remembering when they were on Jotunheimr, cuddling close as to share bodily heat, Thor fondly picks out that specific movement he knows Loki likes best; he covers his body with his own, completely covers him as he latches onto his neck. Sure enough, Loki moves his arms around him, hands on his back, fingers tracing the major muscles, poking, dabbing, stroking and pinching. 

Loki tilts his head towards him, gasping and panting, as Thor positions his body as such, that their cocks are rubbing against each other. He unabashedly pants and moans, bucking his hips as to intensify the contact even more. Loki is beautiful when he’s losing himself in the moment like this; no lies, no schemes, no backstabbing or manipulation, just pure pleasure and lust. Thor goes along with it, his body having made that decision quite a while ago. He grinds into him, sensitive flesh sliding over sensitive flesh, the touches electrifying, heated, and burning with desire. 

Another kiss and another, lips touching sweaty skin, marred by battle scars and drenched with grime and dirt from just the previous fight. Fresh sweat mixes with the old, drawing stripes and leaving streaks all over Thor’s skin. His long, blond hair drags through it, strands sliding over Loki’s pale, bare chest. He dips his head lower to kiss him below the collarbone, while still grinding into him, rolling his hips. Loki’s limber, his long arms are all around him, his long legs wrapped around Thor’s lower backside, lifting himself up from the exclusive rug to get as much pleasure out of the rubbing and touching as possible. He clings to Thor, rejecting him and accepting him, squirming and writhing as if he wants to get away, yet his arms and legs are clamped around him, as if he never wants to let him go.

Thor moves his hands lower, tracing Loki’s sides down to his hips while showering him with kisses. “How much?” he asks.

“Very, very much,” Loki answers, his breathing heavy. “I am not going to plead, you brute. I want you _now_.”

He’s having a good time drawing it out, to make Loki suffer and ask for more, maybe even reduce him to begging and pleading, but Thor knows not to push it. Besides, the urges overtaking his body are too hard to withstand and he wants it just as much. He needs it just as much. Grabbing Loki’s hips, fingers pushing into his skin, he pulls him even closer, grunting low in his throat as his cock slides past his, lower and lower. Loki grabs a couple of strands of his hair, all but wrapping it around his fingers. He’s muttering under his breath, something like ‘hurry, hurry, what are you waiting for’, but it can also be anything else, the words too jumbled to make out. 

Thor isn’t waiting any longer, no. He pushes himself in, slowly. They haven’t prepared well, and he’s not out to cause Loki any pain. It’s uncomfortable at first, he can see the grimace on Loki’s face and he considers pulling out. Just as he moves to withdraw, the smallest, lightest movement, Loki clamps his legs around him, taking him in a surprisingly strong grip. He should’ve known of course, it’s so easy to underestimate Loki when it comes to physical strength, but he has the genes of a Frost Giant - this grip is going to kill him if he doesn’t push in, instead of pulling out. A grunt, and Thor guides himself in further, inch by inch, and that low, throaty moan can’t be his, it’s simply impossible. As it is, his breathing erratic and his chest heaving, he goes in deeper, Loki taking him in while tugging harder at his hair. Thor barely registers the yanking; he’s too busy dealing with the onslaught of sensations, taking him by storm. It has been so long. It has been something he never expected to happen again. He can’t describe what he’s feeling, safe for ‘sensational’ and ‘more’. Lust dominates his body, the increasing demand for release now that he’s fully sheathed and every sense and every nerve is overloaded. He answers the primal call, the urge of satisfaction, acting upon the desire overtaking him.

As soon as he starts to move, Loki cries out, tugging harder at his hair. Thor tilts his head, resting on Loki’s chest, his heartbeat so close to his ear. Growling and grunting, he picks up his pace, placing his hands next to Loki’s sides as to support himself. He loses himself into his own movements, his own rhythm of thrusts, his pace speeding up, going faster, harder, deeper. He doesn’t know what it means; is it passion, lust, desire or is he simply horny? What does it mean, and does it really matter? He picks up on the sounds Loki makes, nothing implies pain or anger, he moans just as loud as Thor does, his voice coming in pants and gasps and whatever words he speaks, they’re lost in his heavy breathing. 

Suddenly he frees himself from Loki’s grasp, pushing his legs aside and slipping out of him. Before Loki can react, Thor rolls him on his stomach, pushing him into the plush carpet as he covers his body with his own again, approaching him from behind and sliding in, resuming his pace. Loki claws at the carpet, he manages to hold on to one of Thor’s smaller braids on the right side of his head and tugs on it. Thor leans into him, placing a kiss on his shoulder. Loki pushes back at him, hips bucking, his breathing completely out of control. Thor has his full weight on him but he doesn’t seem to mind, craving that extra attention, protection, whatever it is he derives from having Thor on top of him: reassurance, comfort, or a simple craving. 

He’s close to reaching his climax, his entire body’s preparing for it. Thor acts upon his own desire, answering his body’s urgent call. He slides his large hands forward, on top of Loki’s and continues his firm pace, the connection as deep as possible, until he can’t withhold himself back longer. Grunting against the back of Loki’s head, inhaling his scent as if a drug, he comes inside him, pushing in hard, emptying himself while his body shakes and shudders, his muscles cramping and tensing and from head to toe, the intensity of the sensations travel all through him, rendering him weak and vulnerable at this very moment, his entire world narrowed down by this rush, this bombardment, this euphoria of feelings, mixed and jumbled yet so clear and wonderful. Loki’s mouth is open, his breathing ragged, his hands balled into fists. Thor shifts his position and rolls on his side, taking Loki with him. A surprised gasp eludes the other, but he moves along, clasping his legs around him once more. It’s not Thor’s intention to break up their union yet. He wraps one arm around Loki to stabilize him, hand firmly on his chest, and his other hand travels to Loki’s cock, his fingers curling around the hard, rigid flesh. Loki throws his head back, leaning his head against Thor’s shoulder, his mouth wide open, unable to produce anything but wordless, ragged breaths. 

Thor whispers into his ear as he moves his hand up and down, his calloused fingers slick, stroking rapidly. Nothing coherent leaves Loki’s lips but murmurs and mumbles and he drapes his arm over Thor, fingers latching onto pure muscle as he braces himself, gearing up towards that unavoidable climax, his body pushing him over the limit; Thor still inside him, Thor stroking him, holding him, sweaty, dirty, roughly, hard, hot and wet and then there’s nothing left. No more stability, no more calmness, no, it’s pure bliss, that wonderful feeling of… total perfection, his entire world focused on himself, that release taking away all the tension, all the doubt, all and everything that’s inside him and flushes it out, taking him over and controlling him entirely for this moment; Loki goes limp in Thor’s arms, all but sagging against him, his arm slipping away. Thor searches out his mouth and presses his lips against his; not ravaging, but surprisingly gently. He doesn’t withdraw his hand, instead he continues to stroke him, and with every stroke, Loki shivers, still incoherent, everything to tender and sensitive.

“You are such a barbarian,” Loki mutters as he’s back in control of his voice again. Thor simply nuzzles him; if these words are meant as an insult, they fall flat on his ears anyway. Pointing out that Loki is much more elegant and distinguished is like pointing out the sun’s coming up every day. He enjoys Loki lying against him like this, he can carry his weight easy and it perpetuates their union. Lazily, Thor slides his hand over Loki’s cock, coating his flesh with the delicious juices he just spilled. Slowly, peacefully… they both need to regain their breathing and they take their time. As they shift a little, Thor slips out of Loki and he pulls him on top of him, so he can look at his face. A couple of black strands of hair glide over his cheek. “Now I need a shower,” Loki says prudishly and wipes at the wayward strands. “And a carpet cleaner.”

Thor doesn’t comment that it’ll take Loki only one magic spell to remove any offending stains. It doesn’t matter anyway. He places his hand on Loki’s ass, grabbing himself a handful of flesh and squeezes, not too hard. 

“You are like a bad, very bad addiction,” Loki says, but his voice doesn’t hold any malice or contempt. “A fatal addiction, one that cannot be shaken off.”

“I will gladly be your fatal addiction,” Thor blurts out, less than eloquent. For the first time, since a very long time, he sees a genuine smile on Loki’s face. A small one, but a genuine one. Loki leans into him and his lips trail over his chin, scratched by his beard. 

“When will you shave, like a decent human being?” he mumbles. “You know I hate that stubble of yours.”

“There _is_ something else you really love about me.” Thor can’t help it. In the moment of silence that follows, he wonders if he has taken it too far. But no, Loki smiles again, this time more like a leer, a wolfish, devilish grin.

“You are right about that. Still, let me dress you one day. I am just dying to know how a suit would look on you. Armani. Boss. Gucci. Balenciaga.”

“I do not know these men, whoever they are.”

“Fashion designers. Talented men who know how to dress and how to look good. Though your dirty, sweaty…” a nip and a soft bite, “…grimy, unwashed body has an effect on me like nobody else has…”

“Whatever you want,” Thor says in return and he’s not lying. He’ll put on a woman’s dress if that’s what Loki wants. His weak point, his soft spot, his flaw… is lying on top of him, naked, spent, and probably drawing up a bazillion schemes in the back of his mind. How long will it take before they face each other again as enemies? For now, Loki shifts away from him.

“I have treated your injuries,” he says, “I will look into those wargs and their owner to see if there is another threat, or just a stand-alone incident. I am going to take a shower. When I get back, I want to have the office to myself.”

He gets up in one fluid movement and traipses to the bathroom. Of course a luxurious office like this would dispose over a well-equipped shower and bath facility, and for a moment, Thor regrets not being able to share it with Loki. But the message is clear, and what else did he expect? When he was injured and running to Loki for help, he expected to be mocked and send away immediately. This was a golden moment he has to cherish, a moment he will cherish for a long time to come. He hears the water running, so he makes haste to dress himself. He can bathe at the Avengers Tower, they’re probably worrying sick about him since they lost contact with him; one of the wargs tore at his pocket with the Starkphone and chewed right through the technology. Friend Stark is not going to like that, but who in the world would think of testing his technology on warg fangs? 

He dons his armor again, picks up Mjölnir and he checks for his teleportation rune stone. Loki hasn’t taken it away from him. No fight, no argument. It feels good. Thor looks around the splendid office one more time, his eyes lingering on the not-so-discreet stains on the precious carpet. His lips curl into an oafish, big smile. He activates the stone. “Avengers Tower,” he says softly. The running water is still audible in the background. “Goodbye, Loki!” he calls out loudly just before he teleports away. He doesn’t expect an answer, he doesn’t get any; Thor’s still wearing his goofy, content grin when he materializes in the special, contained area for instant transmission and teleportation routes. He needs a shower too, and preferably a good night of sleep. Briefing can wait. His friends can wait. For now, he just wants a moment to himself and cherish what he shared with Loki. Undoubtedly, the pleasure will be haunted by pain one day or the other, but not for now. Not for now.

\-------------------------------


End file.
